Club Soda
by samisaywhat
Summary: He's got grass stains on his knees, and Stiles thinks, great, I have no idea how to get those out. Club soda? Or is that for blood? Or wine? Maybe it works for all of them. He should really look that up.


3

He's got grass stains on his knees, and Stiles thinks, great, I have no idea how to get _those_ out.

Club soda?

Or is that for blood? Or wine? Maybe it works for all of them. He should really look that up.

Claws cut into the back of his shirt, effectively dragging his attention away from his stained jeans, but thankfully missing skin. Three shirts certainly seem practical now at least. He gets pulled to his feet before he can continue pondering his wardrobe though, and then that same clawed hand (paw?) is pushing against his back, urging him on.

Right, running. That's what he's supposed to be doing.

His legs are almost numb, and the soles of his feet burn with every step. It's ridiculously dark, and Stiles can't see properly. He dropped the flashlight he had a while back, thanks to Derek and his shoving. He gets the fact that they have to hurry, he really does, but doesn't Derek realize that Stiles would do a lot better if he could _see_? Not to mention it was a really nice flashlight. Maybe he can guilt trip Derek into fetching it later.

Probably not. A boy can dream though.

Stiles doesn't even see Derek in all the darkness, only knows he's around when he's pulling Stiles off the ground. It seems stupid to be running with Derek, who is literally the stuff of nightmares, and away from humans. It seems even more stupid for those very same humans to be chasing Stiles now. They know very well that Stiles isn't one of the wolves, had made it perfectly clear as they taunted Derek with just how breakable humans can be.

Not that they got to act on any of those taunts. Stiles still doesn't know what the hunters were thinking when they decided to kidnap him, or when they decided to call Derek out into the open under the cover of night. Derek, for once, took the advantage for what is was and came in like a ghost, picking off a few hunters before snatching Stiles and running. Stiles was not on board with that part of the plan, especially when it meant he would have to run on legs that were already numb from being tied to a chair for a few hours.

The forest doesn't seem to thin out regardless of how far he runs, and it feels like he's been running for hours already. He has a strange suspicion that Derek is leading them further into the forest, or that maybe he's letting Stiles lead. Which would be plain stupid seeing as Stiles doesn't even know if they're in Beacon Hills anymore. They could be in the preserve, or they could be in Canada for all he knew.

Well, not Canada. Three shirts wouldn't even cut it in Canada.

He's about to ask where they are when a familiar set of claws hook into his shirt (seriously, does Derek have something against the poor thing?) and yank him back against a warm body. He can feel the fur on Derek's chest tickle his neck and ears. Derek's unnaturally warm normally; the fur just makes it seem a lot more cozy. Not that Stiles doesn't want to snuggle up to Derek on any other day, but it _is_ cold (not Canada levels cold, thank God) and that combined with the fatigue makes Stiles want to crawl into the wolf and stay a while. Derek must be able to tell exactly what Stiles is thinking because he presses his nose, which is cold as hell, to Stiles' neck quickly before pulling him closer. It's a thing Derek does when he wants to be affectionate, but doesn't exactly have the time to kiss Stiles silly. Or you know, lips.

Stiles really misses Derek's regular face. Kissing would be pretty nice right now.

Derek has his head turned just slightly away from Stiles, listening for any signs of the hunters. It's an interesting sight to behold, a wolf's face on a man's body. Well, except for the feet. Those are definitely paws.

Derek looks almost like Peter on a first glance. It used to freak everyone out, but on closer examination, the two are very different. Derek's form is sleeker, more balanced. Peter looked deranged and angry and way too big. Derek doesn't look so different from his normal state, actually. His body still has a good set of muscles on it, but it looks proportionate to the rest of him. He's taller though, which makes looming a whole lot easier. Derek probably gets a kick out of that, the sick bastard.

The claws still tangled in Stiles' shirt finally let go, leaving Stiles uncertain of what his next move should be. When Derek doesn't shove him forward, he figures it's safe and slumps against him instead. Derek snakes an arm around Stiles' waist, holding him steady. The silence drags on for too long, so naturally Stiles has to end it. He cranes his neck to look at Derek, "Did we lose them?"

Derek looks down at him for a moment before nodding carefully. He is never generous with words, but this form takes them from him completely. Stiles is kind of glad that he's had so much practice with nonverbal communication.

"Hallelujah, I don't think I could actually keep going at that speed. My legs are jello," Stiles says while lifting one leg for emphasis. He winces when he bends it too much, "My knees are killing me."

Derek growls and scents the air before pulling them down to sit on the forest floor. Stiles is forced to sit between his legs, surrounded by his big ass feet. Paws. Whatever.

"So who was leading who? With us, I mean. 'Cause I have no idea where we are."

Derek just stares at him. Dogs are more responsive.

"You could actually try to answer me. Two barks for yes, one bark for no?" Stiles grins. Derek glares in response, and _oh_, of course he has no trouble doing that. "If you expect me to pass up dog jokes, you clearly don't know me."

Derek looks rather unimpressed, but he pulls up a clawed hand and folds his fingers down, one by one. He very slowly points the last one at himself. Stiles snorts.

"I hope I did a better job following than you did leading then because I couldn't even see you half the time."

Derek blows out a long breath, and Stiles thinks that's his wolfy way of laughing. Or chuckling, since Derek doesn't actually laugh, even though Stiles is a fucking riot. He's still working on getting Derek to loosen up. Maybe teach him that there's more to the world than leather and brooding.

Stiles does appreciate the leather and brooding though. It works.

A thought occurs to him suddenly and he lets it out before he can think better of it, "Maybe we can get a bigger leather jacket for you to wear when you transform. That'd be so cool. We could probably get you a bunch of clothes to wear like this."

Derek does that breathy thing again, and Stiles is almost sure he just rolled his eyes. Stiles elbows him in the stomach in retaliation.

"Did you run here?" Stiles asks, and Derek shakes his head. "Good. Let's get your car and get out of here. I'm sick of these... trees."

He uses Derek's shoulder as leverage to stand back up, legs wobbly under his weight. His knees are practically screaming in pain. He looks down at them and notices a hole on his left pant leg, blood joining the grass stain party.

He really hopes club soda is versatile.


End file.
